


The Right Thing

by Macx



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case comes between Mac and Don. Now it's all about trust. How much does Don really trust him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Thing

It wasn't like they had consciously ignored each other, but now, a day after the arrest of one of their own who had not only sold drugs stolen from a drug bust, but also killed someone over it, Mac Taylor stood in his apartment and wondered. His life had had a few ups and downs lately, and Don had always been there for him. They had had their fights and disagreements, but who didn't? Living together, being together, brought with it a certain amount of tension sometimes. They were both not really used to partners. Don had never had a serious relationship with someone, living together with a lover, and Mac had been a widower for too long.

Now the case had come between them. Mac knew he had leaned hard on his lover and colleague. He knew he could have ordered Flack to hand over his note book, he could have had it even sooner, but he hadn't wanted to make it an order at all. He had suggested, he had asked politely, and it had been Don's right to deny him. This had been one of his people, one of the team, and like every police officer on the force he had refused to believe one of them was capable of this.

He should know better, Mac mused, remembering Gavin Moran. That had been bad, too. Maybe even worse. Moran had been an old friend, a former partner, from a time when Don had been a rookie. That had hit really hard, and it had hit at a time when both Mac and Don had only been fuck buddies. The sex had been desperate and hungry and maybe even rough.

Taylor had no intention to let this fiasco end with pure sex this time.

This time it was different. They were different.

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of orange juice, pouring himself a glass. It was late, he didn't really want coffee, and somehow something harder, with more alcohol, didn't appeal either. Mac wasn't someone to drown his pain in liquor.

And there was pain. Not just shared pain, but also his own. Claire had told him about her first child, about a boy she had given up for adoption. She had been too young to raise a child, scared, the child's father a flirt she had met and never found again. She had been only eighteen.

Now Reed Garrett had returned, looking for his mother, and found out she had died in the Towers. For Mac, recalling Claire's death had been painful. And the next stab had been the boy's refusal to even leave him a contact number, or accept his. No, he wasn't the father. He had no connection to him. Except for Claire.  
The pain was spiking and he briefly closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath.

It had been a really bad week, full of memories and betrayal. And he needed to talk to Flack. He needed him to know that the job was the job, and it had nothing to do with their private life.

Mac emptied the glass and grabbed his coat, intent on going to his lover's place, get him to listen. He was just out of the building when he caught sight of a familiar figure.

Don's eyes widened a little, then his lips became a thin line.

"Hey," Mac said calmly.

"Hey. You going?"

Mac smiled a little. "Yeah."

"Oh."

Disappointment was visible in the narrow features and Mac smiled more.

"Over to your place, actually."

Don blinked. "Oh," he said again.

"You?"

"Your place," the detective answered, shrugging briefly.

Mac nodded his head in an invitation. "How about we make it mine since we're both here."

It got him a chuckle, but it sounded tired. "Sure."

Going up to the apartment, both men were quiet, Mac studying his lover as they rode in the elevator. Don looked no more tired than at the end of every day, but there was a shadow hanging over him. Taylor had a good idea what that shadow was.

When the door closed after them and Mac had hung up his coat again, he turned to look at the taller man. Don looked indecisive, as if he had never been here before, but then he walked over to the water heater for a cup of tea. Mac watched him, noticing the tension, and he finally jumped over his own shadow and made the first step.

He knew Don wouldn't make it, or only to initiate the sex. Taylor wouldn't let it come to that. As much as he enjoyed his lover, this wasn't about sex this time. So he joined him in the kitchen, standing right next to the other man.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Don froze in unwrapping the tea bag and turned to look at him. "What?"

"I said I'm sorry."

The narrow faced closed off a little. "Nothing to apologize for. It's your job."

"Yes, it is. It's my job and I know yours. I know you protect your people."

Don didn't reply.

"Like I protect mine. I've been in your shoes and I'll always be."

Blue eyes regarded him briefly. Mac was a detective, but he was now a crime scene investigator, too. He was a supervisor and he took as much heat as any team leader. He would protect his team against everyone and everything, and he had done so. Maybe sometimes a bit harshly, as Danny could attest to.

Mac leaned against the kitchen island. "I also know we've clashed before. We will again if my job leads me to questioning a police bust or investigation due to evidence pointing me toward suspicious circs."

"I know that, Mac."

"And I know you know it. It doesn't change your feelings, though."

The intensely colored eyes flared to life, anger and disappointment mixing together. They hadn't shared a bed or even apartment space throughout that week and Mac had felt the emptiness. It was so strange to expect Don to come by in the evening or to just visit his lover, spend the night at his place. Now something had driven them apart, and it had been the job.

"And I know how it feels to lose confidence in your own people. To feel this betrayal," Mac added.

The tea bag was dumped into the mug with more force than necessary. "I screwed up a bust, Mac. That's what happened. I missed out on one of my own men keeping illegal drugs to himself! I had to ask the dealer how much stuff he had!"

"There was nothing you could have done to know it. None of the others knew either."

"I was the team leader!" More anger flared.

"You're not omniscient."

"He was a friend, Mac! I knew him for a long time! We worked together, were on cases together! I'd never have believed he'd…" Don broke off and shook his head. He poured the hot water onto the tea bag, took the mug and walked into the living room.

Mac followed again. He watched as Flack tore off his tie and carelessly dropped it onto the table. The top buttons were undone and then the detective sat down at the edge of the couch, still looking tense.

"I trust my men, Mac. All of them," he said softly.

"As do I. One black sheep can't spoil our trust in our people, Don. We have to trust them to have our backs."

"He isn't the first."

No, he wasn't. Moran was like a dark cloud hovering over the younger man. Twice now Flack's confidence and trust had been betrayed. That hurt. It no longer smarted, it was pain.

Taylor joined him on the couch. For a moment he did nothing, then he pulled the taller frame against him, placing a gentle kiss against one temple.

"You can't let this linger, Don," he murmured.

"I won't."

It had been a bad week. A really bad week.

"And you don't have to apologize," Flack continued, voice still soft. "You did your job, I did mine. It'll always be this way." One hand came to caress over Mac's thigh. "Keeping job and private life apart."

"Can be hard sometimes."

"Yeah. I missed coming here."

"Why didn't you?"

Don was silent. Then, "It didn't feel right. With that between us…"

"It wasn't between you and me personally."

"Still felt strange."

Don suddenly turned his head and one hand caught Mac's face, their lips meeting in a kiss initiated by Flack. It was deep, desperate, hungry, and Mac felt a sizzle of recognition flare through him. His whole body thrummed with the need reflected from his lover, and while part wanted to push Don away, another said to hell with it. Right now, that part was a lot stronger.

Flack moaned as he was pushed back onto the couch, blanketed by Mac, and his hands fought with the dress shirt to get to naked skin.

"Don, easy," Mac murmured, lips gracing one ear. "Easy."

"Want you," came the hoarse reply.

"You got me. You got me." He pushed back a little, eliciting a groan of disapproval.

Mac undid the buttons before Don could rip them off, and hungry eyes watched as naked skin was revealed. The detective was already toeing off his shoes and removing the shirt tails from his pants. Taylor stilled the eager hands with a light grip around their wrists.

"Let me."

Don was breathing a little harder and Mac planned on having him pant his name by the time they were done. So he took his time with the shirt, with the pants, with the underwear, running teasing caresses over the skin revealed with each move, and adding a nibble or lick when it seemed appropriate. Don was arching into every touch, encouraging him with soft moans or eager gasps, and when he was finally naked on the couch, Mac took his time admiring the lean, handsome man. He cupped the balls with one hand, caressing, squeezing, fondling, and took in the cries with pleasure. It were cries that turned into a long groan of need when he licked over the straining erection.

"Please, Mac… want you…"

Mac released the head he had been suckling on and leaned over his more than ready partner. He held the bright blue eyes, then kissed the moist lips.

"I know," he murmured when they parted. "And I want you, too. But this isn't a fuck, Don. Not any more."

Those intense eyes widened fractionally and Mac smiled softly, his hand still cupping Don's balls in a gentle grasp. Having brought his point across, he went back to his task. He knew how long he could keep Don from reaching his climax and this time he drew it out. Flack's breathing was quickening, he was pushing harder against the hand keeping his hips in place, and he was begging.

Mac sucked hard and one finger strayed toward the most intimate area, giving Don the last bit of stimulation he needed to come. The detective cried out softly, Mac's name intermingling with the cry. Panting, chest heaving, Don looked deliciously well-blown, Mac thought with a smirk, and he waited for the younger man to regain his senses.

"Gawd…" came the groan.

"No, just me."

"Bad humor, Mac."

He smiled and leaned over Flack. They traded a sloppy kiss.

"Not done with you yet," Mac murmured, running teasing caresses over the warm skin.

Blue eyes flared again. "I hope not." Don's eyes strayed to the straining hardness visible against the soft material of Mac's pants. He had only taken off his shirt while Flack was completely naked, and it made for a rather erotic picture. Mac played gentle fingers over one nipple and felt the response.

"Not here," he said. "Bed."

"I'm all for the couch," came the lazy reply.

"Bed's wider."

Don smiled. "Yeah…"

* * *

"You never told me you had a son."

"He's not mine. Claire had a child when she was eighteen and she gave him up for adoption."

Don rolled onto his side and regarded his lover. There were faint lines of pain around Mac's eyes, and the memories were visible in his eyes. Maybe it wasn't his son as such, but he was Claire's child, a piece of her, his dead wife. Don had never been jealous when it came to Claire. She had been Mac's wife, he had lost her to a terrorist act, and he also still loved her. Don accepted that. He knew he wasn't a replacement and Mac had told him so before, and it gave him a security he hadn't had in past relationships before. Not that anything in his past had ever been this serious or this intense.

"He's still Claire's son," he now said softly.

Mac sighed. "Yes. But not mine. He was raised by parents he loves, and all he wanted to know was who his mother is. I couldn't tell him much after he found out about her death, and he refused to contact me or let me contact him."

And that hurt. Don reached out and let one hand caress over the soft skin of Mac's stomach.

"You know there are ways to find him again," he said.

"I know. And I won't. He looked for his mother and found me. He has no relationship with me, I'm a stranger," Mac answered levelly. "He knows where to find me should he ever want that contact again."

Flack accepted that. There was no alternative. All he could do was be there when the memories were too overpowering again.  
Nothing else.

* * *

He shouldn't have let it end with sex, Mac berated himself silently the next day. It was just like before, when they had simply sought the other out to satisfy a need. It had been a lot more tender now, not wild and unrestrained and like this was the last time – only to come back for more. It had been gentle and loving, coupled with deep and hard to sate the need.

Still… still Mac had a bad feeling about it.

He was proven right when the case of one dead pigeon owner had him clash with Flack again.

Mac had noticed the tension in the precinct, how the other cops looked at Flack as if he was a traitor. He had delivered Dean Truby to justice, but he had also, in the eyes of his fellow cops, hadn't had his own man's back. Cops were a sworn unity against outsiders, against accusations against their honor and loyalty, and Mac knew it. He was one of them.

Except that in this instance he hadn't been. Like Internal Affairs he had become the outsider, the aggressor who wanted to take one of their own. He had been the enemy.

And Don had slipped into the category as well.

Matters would blow over in time, but right now the pressure on the young detectives shoulders was immense and it showed in the rising aggression in bed. Don was demanding, Mac gave it to him, but it left him with a bad taste.

Until the confrontation in the tunnel when he had let a suspect go.

Trust… it was all about trust. Don claimed he trusted him, but to what degree?

Mac walked through the streets, lights from the cars flashing by. He had just seen the dead body of an FBI agent who had been shot execution style. Candace Broadbent was dead and he couldn't really feel anything.

Too much was happening.

It was too late to come back on his offer to have a Cheeseburger with Reed, but he planned on returning tomorrow, see if the boy wanted to have another go at dinner. Though he hadn't planned on seeking out his dead wife's only child, he had looked up the address. Don would probably just shake his head with a smile and leave it at that.

Mac felt like an idiot.

He needed to talk to Reed about Claire, wanted him to know, wanted the memories to remain alive. Not just within him, but for Reed as well. He would never know Claire in person, but maybe, just maybe, Mac had a chance to introduce him to his birth mother through stories about her life. Their life.

He finally got back to his car after circling a few blocks to clear his thoughts and drove home – and was surprised to find Don there, on the couch, a bottle of beer on the table. The suit jacket was gone, as was the tie. No shoes. Just slacks and a white shirt, the top most buttons undone.

Blue eyes met gray-blue. There was a question in those eyes.

Can I stay? Am I welcome?

Mac closed the door and shed his coat. "Left me one?" he asked, indicating the bottle. Of course you can stay.

"I brought a six-pack."

A peace offering.

Mac smiled briefly. "Good planning."

"I wasn't thinking on drinking myself to oblivion."

"Me neither." He opened the fridge, took out a beer and opened the bottle. The first cool swallow relaxed him a little. "I thought you would be in the precinct."

"Case was taken over by FBI." Don shrugged carelessly and swallowed some beer.

This was a time when he didn't care if the Feds barged in and wanted everything to themselves. Broadbent had been one of their own. There was too much on Flack's own plate to deal with a dead Federal Agent who had asked too many questions about a dead man. A man in witness protection. He would gladly give this to the FBI.

"I see."

Silence descended and Don visibly fought with whatever was on his mind. Mac waited.

"Mac… I need to talk."

So do I, Taylor thought, but he didn't say it out loud. He just looked at the younger man, saw the indecision, the rising shame.

"I'm not big with words," Flack went on, not looking at him. His fingers played over the bottle neck. "I just wanted to say… I behaved like crap. With the suspect, Jesse. I should trust you, your instincts, but… I didn't."

"What the hell was that? You had him! You let him go?!" Flack exclaimed, disbelief coloring his voice.

"The kid doesn't have a summer house in the Hamptons. Trust me, he'll be around."

"Trust you?"

Mac stopped cold for a second, eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean? You got a problem with me, just say it."

"Why?" Mac asked softly.

Don's expression, the way he had said 'Trust you?' in that almost sarcastic voice had hurt. The strange smile-but-no-smile at Mac's retort had stung. This had been the detective confronting the crime lab shift supervisor. Mac was the higher rank, a lieutenant, and he had pulled that rank before. It had hurt Don in return and those wounds were still just scabbed over.

His lover's eyes briefly flicked up. "I've been getting a lot of heat from the other guys. Because of Truby. I know you're right about justice and him being a crooked cop. Everyone knows what he did. It's not like they want him back or laude his actions. I was the team leader on that bust. He was my man. I protect my men, Don."

"I know."

They had had the discussion before. Days ago. Over a week.

"Cops are talking about you. I know that. They're saying you didn't have Dean Truby's back when you gave me the memo book."

"I didn't protect Truby," Flack went on, anger in his voice. An anger directed at himself. "I gave him to you. If it had been IAB maybe I would have fought harder, but I didn't."

"You would have had to give up your book sooner or later, by court order or voluntarily."

"I should have waited for the court order," Flack said softly. "I betrayed him."

"You removed a black sheep from our midst. They all know it and they will come around."

"It doesn't matter. He's in jail. That's what you wanted." Flack's voice was almost cold, his words clipped.

"I wanted a killer put behind bars and I did that. Truby was a bad cop, he stole cocaine from a crime scene, he killed somebody. Flack, you know I did the right thing. Want to blame somebody? Blame Truby. Because he's the one who forced you to make that decision."

Two very strong personalities had clashed in that tunnel, fighting against the other to defend what they thought was the right thing. Mac knew where Don had come from and he knew he would have done the same, but in that moment he couldn't appease his lover. This had been their job, it would always be their job, and Flack knew it, too.

"And the next time I lead a bust, how many of my men won't trust me because I could betray them?" Flack demanded.

"Don, this has nothing to do with you as a team leader or a cop. You did the right thing," Mac insisted, repeating his earlier words.

"Yeah. And it had to be you."

That was the thorn. Not the others. Not the cops who were talking. The talk would subside, but what was between them on a personal level would continue. He was the problem. Mac Taylor, Don's lover.

"You know it can be me again. Unless you request to transferred…"

"No! God, Mac, no!" Flack inhaled deeply and clenched his hands around the bottle. "I just… need time to get this straightened out. Us and the job. It never happened before, but now…"

Mac was silently, a cold knot forming in his stomach.

"It never bothered me before," Don continued, voice rough. "Because we just had… well… we fucked. It was mutual relief. I needed you very much to control what I felt sometimes. Now… now there's more. We're not just that superficial any more. We're deeper."

Mac gazed at his lover, stunned. Don had never put his emotions into words like this. 'I love you' only went so far, but this…

"Much deeper. I like it. I want it. I want to know you, love you and be there for you. It's just that on the job…"

"We can't be that on the job," Mac murmured.

It had nothing to do with the fact that they were men. Hetero-sexual couples who worked in the same company, maybe even with different power levels, had the same trouble.

"No, we can't," Don confessed.

He looked lost and helpless as he met Mac's eyes. This was truly eating away at him.

"Don, I can't solve this for us."

"I know."

"It will take time."

"Yeah."

They looked at each other, words running out. Neither man was big on putting emotions into words. This had been more than before. Mac had always been the more silent type and while Don was outspoken, he hid his true feelings behind a façade. The face presented to the public, be it fellow officers or the criminal element, was different from the Don Flack Mac had gotten to know a lot more intimately.

Don put the bottle on the table and rose, closing the distance between them. He placed a gentle kiss on Mac's lips. Taylor wrapped his free arm around the lean waist, but he wouldn't let his lover proceed any further.

"Don…" he warned softly.

There was a moment of confusion, then something like a mask seemed to drop into place. Mac shook his head and held on as the other man tried to step away.

"No. You got it wrong," he simply said. "I don't want us to end this in sex every time. I love you. I love having sex with you, but it's not what helps us through this. It's like before each and every time."

Don had stiffened at the words and his lips had thinned.

"I love you," Mac repeated more firmly. "And I want you. But not to chase away the demons for a while. I won't be a tool and I won't use ever again like you were one either. We put that behind us, Don."

Flack was still silent, then finally relaxed a little and initiated another kiss. "No fucking," he agreed, voice calm. "But I could really use some good ol' fashioned cuddling right now."

Mac let his face relax into a smile. "I think that can be arranged."

This time the kiss was answered more deeply and Don relaxed into Mac's embrace.

It was cuddling with mutual stroking and teasing and caressing in the end. Mac used a measure of control not to let all of this get out of control, but it was hard not to give in to the seduction that was Don Flack. His lover was using his lips and mouth and hands to explore the sturdier body of the CSI. His tongue licked over the old scar on Mac's chest and he shivered a little.

"Good?" Don murmured.

"Yeah."

It was all he said for the rest of the evening or the night. No words were needed between them right now. Don's hands kept sliding over his skin, like he did the same to the taller man, and Mac felt the trickles of arousal rise, but he didn't do anything to stoke that fire.

Things were far from healed, far from smooth, but this would need time. Mac knew it, Don knew it, and they would have to work at talking, at separating the lover from the colleague. It would work – with some effort.

And Mac was ready to put a lot of effort into this.


End file.
